


Sunday Afternoon

by Barkour



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, PIV Intercourse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:30:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8509825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: Rick and Michonne find a moment of respite on a quick run. (It's just porn.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glamaphonic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glamaphonic/gifts).



> I wrote most of this back in April, haha. I guess it's set before Negan? After Negan? Nowhen? Well. The choice is yours.

A quick run to a veterinary clinic an hour out from Alexandria proved fruitful. Michonne pulled her katana free of the walker that had staggered out from the back room. Congealed blood slid along the edge.

"Antibiotics, painkillers." Rick's voice carried. 

Standing, she shook the worst of the goop from the blade then swiped the rest from it on a shelf's edge. He stood in the half-gloom behind the pharmacy desk, his head turned up as he catalogued the top shelf. The callused length of his thumb showed as he ticked off each box. Rick nodded.

"This is good. This is real good. We can get some of this stuff to Harlan, keep the rest."

"Well, grab a shopping cart," Michonne teased. She sheathed the katana. The snick of it said an end to the day's trouble. "We can take a couple trips. You want to take all of it?"

"Much as we can." 

"Mm." She'd rested her elbows on the counter. 

Rick glanced at her. A slow-shifting smile turned his mouth. Michonne smiled at him. He blinked, and that was slow too. The skin of her nape tickled. Her breath came thickly through her nose. The knob of his throat pulled high then sank again. 

Michonne pushed off the counter and tilted her chin to one side. His shadowed gaze flicked to her neck.

"You lock that door?"

She rolled her shoulder. "I locked it."

"All right." He nodded, and he rubbed his thumb at his beard, and then Rick clambered over the counter.

Michonne hung her katana by its strap from a rack. Rick dropped to his feet. They moved together quickly. Their jeans rasped. He hooked his holster further back on his belt and reached for the buttons of her shirt. 

"We gotta be quiet," she reminded him.

"Yeah, and quick. They'll be wanting us back."

"They can wait."

Rick chuckled and she cupped the back of his head in her hands to guide him down to kiss her. Like this, then, in the dusty wreckage of the clinic with the walker dead on the ground. 

Michonne licked at his teeth. His tongue moved hotly against hers. Rick got a hand in her half-unbuttoned shirt to clasp her breast. She dropped her hands from his head to his groin. Hot already through his jeans, and hard. His cock a thick line under the denim. 

The slickness between her legs did not surprise her. Desire came like this in fierce flashes. She'd see Rick rolling up his sleeves, hair on his arms, the watch flashing, and she'd want his fingers buried to the knuckles of his hand in her cunt. Or he'd lick his lip, a hand scratching at his jaw, and Michonne would think of sitting on that face while he sighed at the taste of her. The curls as they turned at his nape and the thought of feeling the rasp of his beard on her bared shoulder as she twisted her fingers in those dark curls.

She struggled with his belt a moment. Rick said, laughing, hoarse, "Michonne--hey, I got it--"

Michonne bit his lip sharply and freed the belt's tongue. "Let me do this."

"Okay," he said. "Okay. You got it."

She got his jeans pulled open and he got her jeans opened too. Boxers, for Rick.

Her smile curved against his mouth. "Smart man."

Rick groaned as he backed her to the floor. His hand pumped between her legs. She hadn't bothered with underwear that morning. 

"Why would you go bare like this?"

Michonne ran her tongue up his stubbled jaw. "Because someone forgot it was his turn to do laundry."

He swore as she gripped his cock. She gave it one slow pump, to contrast the fingers he drove quickly into her, testing the wetness. The calluses dragged rough along fluttering skin. The heft of a knuckle, bent. The momentary scratch of a nail turned aside. Good, long touches that dragged heat out of her belly. Michonne clenched. Her gut ached. 

"Well, I'll try and forget it more often."

"Oh, you think you're gonna get lucky again?"

He huffed a short laugh. His fingers slid from her, drawing a length of slickness with them. Their hands fumbled together at his prick, his balls; he laughed and she, smiling, kissed at his ear lobe, the skin soft beneath it.

"Play my cards right, yeah. Michonne--"

She looped an arm around to grope his ass, to haul him to her. Rick took the offer. The first breaching stroke punched the air from her. Michonne gasped in his ear and latched her teeth there, in the lobe she'd sweetly kissed. Rick swore again.

"All right," he said. His hips jerked. Cock buried deeper still. "Okay." He bent to bite at her throat. His tongue a gentle afterthought to each nip.

She got both her hands on his ass, to goad him on. He followed her lead, and the next shove into her was harder yet. Her legs hitched up. Rick withdrew, all but the fat head, then fucked into her. Michonne squeezed her knees to his waist as he beat on. 

She licked at his ear, bit again, bit. His cock split her. Too thick, it seemed, and too strong. He was groaning her name into her throat. Her hips bucked from the floor, meeting his every stroke. 

Pleasure was a burning thing that lit up her spine in steady pulses. The smell of his sweat. The sounds of their fucking: the floor hard beneath her back, the jingling of their belts, the scratching of denim, the wet and profane noise of his dick sliding into her cunt - skin striking skin - then the wetter sort of gasp as he pulled out. 

His beard was rough against her skin. Rick scraped his thumb over her nipple, through her bra. His fingers dug into her breast. She dug her own fingers into his jeans, over his ass. Her pulling forced him faster, harsher. Michonne let go of his ear to gasp, breathless and aching. 

"Michonne. Shit--" He laved her jaw desperately. The hand at her waist moved to stroke over her locs, fanned across the floor. "You're so god damn good. God!"

She blinked sweat from her eyes. She said, "Rick," and her tongue curled. Her head fell back. At his name, he'd surged suddenly, force enough to push them both up the floor. Her legs dropped, boots thumping on the dirtied linoleum as she tried to get purchase. 

"C'mon, baby, stick with me." He was panting into her throat. Both hands falling to her waist, to haul her close again. "C'mon. Michonne. Stick with me. Tell me how to make you feel good." He broke off, groaning from his belly; she'd tightened purposefully around his dick.

"You want to--" Michonne broke off, too. The girth of him ground inside her, thick so she felt stretched, over-filled, swollen and delirious. "Just keep going."

He nuzzled at her throat. His nose slid through the sweat. His beard rasped. She felt the curl of his mouth.

"You like it when I do that."

"I like it when you move."

He ground again, their hips crushed together, jeans chafing at her where they brushed. His cock bore down against the parted, aching, sensitized flesh of her pussy. Rick laughed breathlessly into her neck. The hand to the right of her moved so he could stroke his thumb over her clit. Michonne banged her head on the floor and dug her fingers into his ass. Convulsively he pushed into her.

"Shit! Don't--"

"Don't do what?" Her eyes lidded, smile secret. She dug in again.

Rick scrabbled for her leg to hitch her to him as he thrust. He pinched her beaded clit between finger and thumb.

"You're coming first."

"So make me." The words came throatily from her.

He kissed her then, warm and gentle on her lips. Her mouth opened. His tongue rolled sweetly between her teeth. The kiss lingered. Their breath mingled hotly between them. His lips brushed her lips as he spoke.

"Why don't you come to me?"

Her heart trembled. Her skin, too. His thumb rolled over her clit with a purposeful slowness at odds with his renewing thrusts. Impossible, but she felt every line, every callused mark of his thumb on her. 

Michonne said, "Rick," softly.

A shudder passed over his face. "Ah--God." 

"Rick." She slid her hands up his back, rucking his tucked in shirt beneath her palms. "Rick. Rick Grimes." 

Something transformative washed over Michonne. Desire remained, she ached with it, she ached for release; and she was peaceful, too, somehow certain and serene in it.

"You here with me?" she asked him. It was pleasure now, not desperation. He coaxed a sigh out of her.

"I'm here."

"But are you with me?" She wound her fingers in his curls. She took a fistful of them and helplessly Rick bent his head to her.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah. I'm with you. I'm always with you. You know that."

A smile curved her mouth. Michonne closed her eyes. Her heart beat sweet. Long fingers curled into fists inside her. A crescendo built. Her core throbbed in time with Rick's steadying strokes. The desperation had leaked from him too. They moved like this, in a slow and rolling echo like the working of the tide.

"I know," she said. "Just wanted to make sure you knew too."

He nodded and turned to sweep his outside cheek, rough and bearded, the hairs spackled with gray, up her throat. His breath warmed her shoulder. The floor was warmed, too. The late afternoon sunlight came hazily through windows filthed with years of untouched dust. The air was old and dry and foul. Michonne tipped her head to breathe in the smell of Rick. The sweat, the grime on him, the musk. The memory of soap.

They kissed again. The work was easy. The little scratchings of his beard on her skin. His lips made soft by the kisses before. To pull his thick lower lip into her mouth and kiss that. Rick turned his head to better fit her. The movements unseen of her cheeks, of his cheeks. 

Her coming swept through her not like fire but a sigh. The euphoria of it, the pleasure, thrummed in her skin. Michonne arched beneath him. Her nails dragged down his back, his creased and loosed shirt. 

"Yeah." He lipped at her jaw. "Like that. Here with me." 

A small echo of that pleasure popped in her belly with each continuing stroke he gave her. A minute, another. Perhaps three, as Rick rocked into her and Michonne enjoyed the fizzling aftershocks that ticked in her thighs. Her back would be sore. Head too. 

At last, Rick dropped his head. He groaned like a man gutted. She felt the intention in the shifting angle of his back; he made to pull from her. Michonne grabbed Rick's ass again and pulled him firmly to her. He relented. His cock, buried flush within her, twitched. He ground to match each long spurt. His come came hotly inside her. Rick gasped her name twice and hitched his hips as if he might somehow push deeper into Michonne. Another pleasure, to hear her name like so and to feel the wetness and the heat of his come fill her. 

In the dozy time that followed, she stroked at his clothed shoulders. Sweat made sticky the back of his neck and the hair there. No cooling here in the humid afternoon. He pressed kisses, each careful, each lingering, along her nape, her clavicle, the exposure of her cleavage. The beard scratched at her. Michonne, husking as she did so, laughed. 

The afternoon light caught motes of dust. 

Michonne murmured, "Well. How about that," and stroked his curls behind his ears. Rick lifted his head. He blinked very slowly at her and she laughed again. 

His lips curved. "What's so funny?"

Her petting moved in a wandering manner from his ears to his thick-haired jaw, to brush a thumb along that swell of lower lip. Dear. He was dear to her. His hand as he reached to pull her locs from beneath her shoulders, that was gentle.

"Look at you," she said.

"I'm not shaving."

"Didn't say that."

His smile crooked. Dear, it said: dear to me.

"Nah," he said. "You didn't."

They kissed again, long and lowly, a kiss that slipped into another and another, till the sweat at last was tacky between them and the soreness in her back verged on tightness. Then she pushed him up, and Rick, chuckling, went to his feet and offered a hand to raise her too. They reassembled clothing, and at the end of it Rick drew a loc between his thumb and palm with a tenderness that did not venture against the steadiness of his gaze.

"That was dangerous," he said to her.

"World's dangerous," she said to him. Michonne closed the distance. A firmer kiss. "But I'm ready for it."

Rick ran his hand from her shoulders along her back, to rest at her hip with his fingers curling first in caution then with strength.

Gruffly he said, "All right," and he laid his brow against hers and closed his eyes and mouthed it again, and Michonne closed her eyes too and wasn't afraid.


End file.
